


The Storm Approaches

by Ruusverd



Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [21]
Category: Echoes of the Fall - Adrian Tchaikovsky, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bronze Age AU, Gen, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruusverd/pseuds/Ruusverd
Summary: Eskel brings unwelcome news, and plans have to be made in a hurry.
Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863010
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	The Storm Approaches

Geralt was busy keeping a surreptitious eye on Ciri’s “secret” practice while fitting a new handle onto his hatchet when he heard running footfalls and looked up to see Eskel sprinting into the village. He straightened in alarm, knowing that Eskel hadn’t planned to return so soon. His brother slid to a stop in front of him, nearly colliding with Geralt’s legs before he Stepped. “There’s river men coming, Geralt!” he panted.

“What?” Geralt jumped to his feet, looking over Eskel’s shoulder towards the trees.

“They’re not on my heels,” Eskel clarified, “but a warband of Crocodiles landed at the top of the Tsotec a week ago and they’re marching north through the Many Mouths’ territory.”

Geralt Stepped, howled an alarm to call everyone in and ran for the main longhouse. Yennefer came out the door to meet them, as Ciri came running from the training field.

“What’s happened?” Yennefer asked in alarm.

Eskel repeated what the Many Mouths had seen. “I saw the warband as it went by, it looked like the Kasra himself was with them!”

“That’s impossible, the Kasra would never go so far from his own lands in person,” Yennefer protested.

“Well they had someone wearing blood-red robes and a carved golden mask that covered his whole face, and a Snake priest walking beside him,” Eskel described, slightly defensively. “Geralt and I never went as far south as Atahlan when we traveled together, but I’ve heard enough stories to know that’s what the Kasra looks like.”

Yennefer scowled, “The idiot, what can Emhyr be thinking? He’ll get back to Atahlan and find the gates closed against him.”

“Maybe it’s someone else dressed up like him?” Ciri suggested. “If he’s wearing a mask, how do they know it’s him?”

Yennefer shook her head, “Decoy Kasras are never used, specifically because it would be so easy to do. Once people had the idea in their minds that the person behind the mask might not be the Kasra, no one would ever believe the real one. No one would dare impersonate him, officially or otherwise.”

“Did they attack the Many Mouths?” Geralt asked Eskel, not as concerned about decoy Kasras as he was about an army potentially marching on them.

“No, but we didn’t try to keep them out. We had just enough warning from the Horse to get everyone together and run for the woods before they got to us. They outnumbered our hunters almost three to one, and a Wolf village can’t be defended against that kind of force,” he gestured pointedly around them at the unwalled village with its haphazardly placed wooden longhouses. “We watched from the treeline, and they didn’t loot or burn the longhouses. They didn’t even look for us, just marched right through and out the other side without stopping. I can’t say for sure where they’re headed, but we sent some Deer to keep track of them and report back, and last we heard before I left they were headed due north.”

“So they’re coming here,” Geralt concluded grimly.

“I can’t say for sure,” Eskel repeated, “but they must be headed somewhere in particular if they didn’t bother to burn us out, and there’s nothing of any value to the south in this direction. Ciri’s all I can think of that the Kasra might want enough to come himself.”

The gathered warband all looked at each other nervously.

“Maybe he's coming to conquer the north?” Jaskier suggested hesitantly.

“Not unless the Kasra’s stupid enough to hit the Eyrie first and try to conquer us from the north down,” Eskel shook his head. “It’s a big warband, but not big enough to fight the whole north. And he didn’t bring enough supplies or support for a long-term invasion. He’s after something he thinks he can get quickly without facing any organized resistance.”

“What are we going to do?” Milva asked, clutching Little Hawk close where he was perched on her hip.

“The Wolves are going to turn them back,” Eskel said. “The chief of the Many Mouths sent messages by the fastest runners the Deer has to call all the tribes together as soon as they'd gone by us. He even sent an Eyrieman to fly to the Swift Backs in the east, though who knows if they’ll be able to get here in time to be useful.”

“I’m surprised they would go to so much trouble to help us,” Cahir said with a frown. “I didn’t think many approved of us.”

“It's not about protecting _you,_ it's about stopping _them._ The Wolf tribes may not like your little group here, but you’re not a threat to anyone,” Eskel told him. “The southern Kasra thinking he can march his soldiers across our lands any time he pleases and take anything he wants is a threat to all of us, no matter why they're here or what they're after. But we won’t be able to stop him until the other tribes join us, and I don’t know how long that will take. The soldiers might get here first.”

“If he’s coming for Ciri personally after all these years he won’t give up, even if you do manage to turn him back this time,” Yennefer said grimly, “The only thing we can do to stop him for good is make her useless to him.”

“What? How?” Ciri asked in confusion.

“The Kasra wants a Champion, and he thinks you will be one,” Yennefer told her. Geralt and Yen had decided not to tell her the full details of why the Kasra had wanted her until she was older, and Geralt wasn't sure what theories Ciri might have come up with to fill in the gaps.

“Will I be?”

“I don’t know if you would have been a Champion of the Lion in time or not, but there are no Champions of the Wolf.” Yennefer looked at Ciri grimly. “Whether I think you’re old enough or not, it’s time for you to get your Wolf soul. Once the lioness is cut away and you’re firmly in the Jaws of the Wolf, there will be no possibility of a Champion for him to use.”

Ciri looked torn between elation and fear. Geralt didn’t blame her. He’d hoped when she was ready to change her soul it would be a happy occasion they could celebrate, not a rushed undertaking done while under threat of invasion.

“How long will that take?” Geralt asked, putting an arm over Ciri’s shoulders and tugging her against his side.

“I can’t do it here on such short notice, a proper ritual to call the Wolf would take ages to prepare. It will have to be done at a sacred place, somewhere the Wolf is already strongly tied to.”

“The Wolf’s temple?” Geralt suggested reluctantly.

“No, it wouldn’t be strong enough after sitting so long abandoned, and you probably broke whatever power it had left when you tore down the effigy and boarded it up. I’m not a Wolf priest, or even a northern one. I need a powerful sacred place, one with a close connection to the northern gods.”

“The Stone Place?” Eskel suggested. “It’s the most sacred place I know of, and it’s only a few days travel from here, a week at most.”

“What is this place?” Yennefer asked.

“It’s a circle of great stone monoliths on an island in the middle of a marsh full of quicksand. The only way to reach it is a narrow land bridge connecting it to the shore.”

Yennefer looked dubious. Geralt supposed a circle of large rocks on an islandin a swamp likely didn’t sound impressive to someone used to grand stone temples.

“The island itself is artificial, built in ancient times by many tribes working together,” Geralt explained further. “It’s still neutral land, every tribe in the north sends their priests there to read the new year’s omens at the end of winter, and have done for centuries. It’s been there for so long no one remembers how or why it was originally built.”

“Yes, that sounds like it will work,” Yennefer looked more confident, “After centuries of continuous use, it must be a powerful place indeed. We’ll go there, all of us.”

“Not me,” Jaskier interjected. Everyone looked at him in surprise, and he shrugged, turning the unpainted side of his face towards them honestly, “I can’t fight Crocodiles, I’d be useless. And Milva’s a better scout than I am. But someone has to look after Little Hawk, and I can do that much. You can’t drag a toddler into what might turn into a battlefield, and he’d slow you down too much in any case. I couldn’t fight the river men, but I can stay out of their way just fine. If they didn’t burn the Wolf village they won’t care about a Crow with a little boy.”

“Take Plotka too,” Geralt told him. “She’ll be safer with you, and she’ll be at least some protection.”

“I’ll send word back to the hearth-keepers of the Many Mouths to expect you,” Eskel offered. “The hunters have formed a warband and are headed to meet up with the other tribes, but the hearth-keepers and the children we left behind. They’ll let you stay with them until we return if I ask, and you’ll be safer there than on your own.”

“Thank you,” Milva said gratefully, passing Little Hawk to Jaskier and darting into the longhouse to put a pack together for him.

The rest of the warband scattered to gather their weapons and throw supplies into packs.

“I have to return to the Many Mouths,” Eskel said, “But if the Kasra’s men change direction I’ll try to send a scout to let you know.”

“Rest here before you go back,” Yennefer insisted. “You’re about to collapse and I’m sure you have a long run back, an hour or two of sleep won’t make much difference. At least help yourself to the stores, and eat one meal that you don’t have to catch yourself.”

Eskel nodded gratefully, and wandered into the longhouse to collapse on the nearest pile of furs and fall instantly asleep, wolf-fashion.

Geralt tugged on the iron shirt he’d gotten out of the habit of wearing, and tossed Ciri the pieced-leather armor they’d made for her to train in. He wished now she had something better, perhaps bronze scales like the Tiger wore, but leather was easier to obtain and adjust to fit a growing child. After all this time with no trouble he hadn’t expected her to need anything more sturdy until she was a grown hunter.

She pulled the armor on and tightened the laces, for once not complaining about the stiff leather panels hindering her movements, and tucked her bronze fighting knife through her belt. Lambert had brought her that knife after she’d outgrown the small dagger Geralt had first given her, though she still carried that one in her boot.

“Did the Kasra really send a whole warband here because of me?” she asked Geralt in a low voice.

Geralt paused in tightening his bronze-studded bracers and looked at her seriously. “It looks that way,” he told her honestly. “But even if he did, it’s not your fault. You know that, right?” He knew she still carried guilt about the attack on the Xin’trae, despite all their reassurances over the years that she hadn’t caused the attack and there was nothing she could have done to prevent it.

“I know.” She didn’t sound convinced.

Geralt tugged her into a hug. “Don’t worry, we’ll go to the Stone Place and everything will be fine. And you’ll have your wolf soul, just like you always said.”

Ciri nodded, then pulled away with a shaky smile. They finished filling their packs and joined the rest of the warband in front of the longhouse.

Lem, who was now a young woman, tall and long-limbed in the way of most Plains people, leaned on her spear and grinned fearlessly. She’d painted her face with streaks of white and yellow war-paint, even though any fighting would be days away. Milva was pulling her arrows out of the quiver one by one, checking the heads, shafts and fletching of each to make sure they were all intact. Cahir just stood and fidgeted, looking nervous. Geralt felt a pang of sympathy for the Caiman. Running away from your own people was one thing, facing them in battle was another.

Geralt tried to explain to Plotka what was happening, though he knew she wouldn’t really understand. He hoped she would let Jaskier and Little Hawk ride, but he could never predict how she would react. He patted her neck and told her to stay. Jaskier was going to wait and then leave when Eskel did, so that he wouldn’t outpace the messenger to the Many Mouths’ hearth-keepers.

Once they were ready to leave, the warband Stepped so they could move as quickly as possible. Ciri’s lioness, though only half grown, was already as large as Geralt’s wolf. She couldn’t match him for speed or endurance, but she’d be faster than she would be as a human girl. Yennefer, whose shape wasn’t suited to traveling long distances at speed, Stepped to a long, thin serpent and looped herself securely around Geralt’s shoulders.

The last time Geralt looked back, he saw Jaskier standing in front of the longhouse with Little Hawk propped on his hip and Plotka standing beside him, watching as the rest of the warband headed east for the Stone Place.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a copy of the books and are curious, the Elder Sea village is somewhere around where the Moon Eaters canonically live for the purposes of this AU. The Moon Eaters now live... somewhere else, I don't know where. If you aren't looking at the map it's not that important.


End file.
